


Mochas, Coronas and Tequila

by bewarethesmirk



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coffee Shops, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pining, Underage Drinking, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 21:43:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewarethesmirk/pseuds/bewarethesmirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac is a loner, down-on-his-luck barista.  Then Scott bustles in, with his puppy dog eyes and penchant for mochas, and he and Isaac become buddies.  As these things go, Isaac wants more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mochas, Coronas and Tequila

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyknightanka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknightanka/gifts).



> Written as a pinch-hit for [ladyknightanka](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknightanka) in the 2012 round of [tw_holidays](http://tw-holidays.livejournal.com/). Thanks so much to [staraflur](http://archiveofourown.org/users/staraflur/pseuds/staraflur) for the excellent beta job!
> 
> Warning: vague and brief mention of character death and abuse (Isaac's dad in both cases)

Sunlight streams into the coffee shop, and even through the streaky wall-to-wall windows, it's an assault. Isaac throws a hand over his eyes, momentarily blinded and wondering if he could rock his aviators inside, when a throat clears. 

_Shit_ , he hadn't even heard anyone come in. He turns and squints through the onslaught of sun. There's a guy standing in front of the counter with a sheepish smile. Isaac finds himself staring stupidly for a moment, and then forces himself into action.

"Sorry, man." Isaac moves in front of the register. "What can I get you?"

The dude cracks a smile. He has tan skin and soft brown eyes, and Isaac wishes he knew something suave to say. "No prob." He's looking over the menu written in chalk over the register. "Uh, how about a mocha?" 

"The mocha here is excellent," Isaac says. "We use real chocolate."

"Sweet. I like real chocolate. It's better than most fake chocolate." The dude hands over a card, and Isaac can't help but to look. _Scott_. 

"Whip cream?" 

"Of course," Scott says with a grin, and Isaac can't help but to smile back—just a small curve of his mouth, but a smile nonetheless.

Isaac makes his drink and sets it on the bar. Scott reaches for it, takes a sip and makes a _mmm_ sound that has Isaac's toes curling a little in his sneakers.

"This kicks ass," Scott says, then glances down at his phone. "Shit, I'm late for class. Later!" He bustles out the door and takes off into a not-quite run. 

Later that night, Isaac remembers that as the first time he's smiled in a long time.

*

It's several days later when Scott returns to Third Eye with a back-pack thrown haphazardly over his shoulder.

It's during the middle of the post-lunch slam, so Isaac just gets a glimpse of him. He's secretly pleased when Boyd calls to him, "Mocha with extra whip for Scott."

When Isaac puts the mocha up on the bar, he's rewarded with a half smile and a, "Thanks, man."

Isaac smiles and opens his mouth to say something that would have been clever and smooth, but Boyd calls a new order: "Ten nonfat lattes."

"Ten?"

Boyd rolls his eyes. "No, I'm just making shit up for my own amusement. Yes, _ten_."

Isaac sighs and gets to work, but does note that Scott drops two dollars into the barista tip jar.

*

Isaac is nearly late to work the next morning.

The night before he'd worked a double shift because Danny had called out _again_ (probably getting laid, as per usual). When Erica, his bitch of a manager, asks (read: threatens) him to take the morning shift, too, he agrees. It's a close thing, but he doesn't tell Erica to fuck off and go drown herself in lipstick. He probably would have taken the shift anyway because he's trying to save up to take classes next quarter. He closed alone at midnight and now he's supposed to be back at 5:00am

On his way to work, Isaac nearly wrecks his bike twice when he accidentally dozes off. 

When he shows up at 5:30am to clean up before opening at 6:00am and he sees someone sitting on the front steps, his first thought is: _Shit, I'm hallucinating_. His second thought is: _What if it's a belligerent, crazy person?_ He may have stealthy ass-kicking skills, but he couldn't beat a 90-year-old grandmother in his current state.

When he comes closer he realizes it's not a hallucination or a crazy motherfucker. Well, unless Scott is keeping his crazy on the DL. Scott does look half insane, though. He's got a textbook cradled on his knees and he's leaning over it, using his phone as a flashlight. He's got a hoodie pulled up over his head and tufts of hair are sticking out of it. He looks like a manic puppy on the verge of a panic attack.

"Hey," Isaac says, softly, so that he doesn't startle Scott, but Scott jumps nearly a foot in the air anyway.

His eyes are as round as an owl's when he looks up. "Oh, thank sweet Jesus." Scott jumps to his feet. "I know you're not open yet, but I need coffee really badly or I'm gonna pass out." It's dark out, but Isaac can make out the wide-eyed expression of a well-practiced groveler. Fuck, it's too early for this.

"Fine," he says.

"You're totally saving my life, dude," Scott says as Isaac unlocks the door and turns on the lights. Scott settles in at the table nearest the bar, plugs in his laptop and gets out a half dozen books.

"Paper?" Isaac guesses as he starts to make a mocha with extra whip and chocolate shavings on top.

"Yeah." Scott pulls his sweatshirt over his head, and his t-shirt rides up, and there's a set of abs to die for. Isaac feels equal parts jealous and lustful as he stares at Scott's abdomen while tamping the espresso, mesmerized by the line of dark hair leading from his belly button to under the waistband of his jeans. Scott yanks his shirt down with a jerky movement and comes to stand by the counter. Isaac hands over the mocha, hoping he's not blushing.

Scott takes a sip and sighs. "You remembered!" he says with a dopey grin that should look stupid but manages to look endearing instead. Maybe those are Isaac's rose-tinted goggles talking.

"Uh, yeah," Isaac says. "We're encouraged to remember our regulars' drinks," he says, like he doesn't recall every time Scott has been to Third Eye while he's been working.

"How much do I owe you?" Scott says, reaching for his wallet. 

"It's on the house," Isaac says.

"You're a bad ass," Scott says. "I owe you my first born. Uh, if I could have one." He's speaking rapidly, and his eyes are bloodshot. Isaac wonders if he's on something. Before he knows what he's doing, he's pouring some water and handing it over to Scott.

At Scott's expression of confusion, Isaac says, "You, uh, look a little strung out."

"Fuck," Scott says, running his fingers through his hair. "My friend gave me some of his Adderall. It hasn't really helped me, though. I feel like I'm going to jump out of my skin."

"Maybe you shouldn't be drinking caffeine." 

Scott laughs. "Yeah, probably not, but I've gotta get this paper done before 10am or I'm screwed. I'm barely passing the class as it is." He scratches his head. "Actually, I might not be passing it."

"What class?" Isaac asks, starting to wipe down the counters and getting the till ready.

"Ethics," Scott says, spitting the word like it's the bitchiest bitch ever.

"That sucks. Philosophy is bullshit."

"I know, right?" Scott says, moving away from the counter and flopping down at his table.

Isaac tries to hurry through the pre-opening routine. It's pretty much like clockwork to him now, since he's opened more shifts than not over the past year. With Scott sitting there, rubbing at his head and mouthing obscenities at his laptop while he types, it's oddly comfortable—and distracting. Isaac wishes he could keep the place closed today.

*

On his break at 9:00, Isaac is doing a quick proofread of Scott's paper. It's plagued with more spelling and grammar problems than Isaac's ever seen in his life, and he hastily goes through, changing things.

"Thanks so much for doing this." Scott is standing behind the chair, his hands on the back of it. 

"No problem." Isaac changes a 'there' to 'their.' "I could use some intellectual stimulation," he says and promptly wishes he hadn't.

Scott laughs and takes a sip of his fourth mocha. "You're not a student?"

Isaac feels color rise to his cheeks. "Not yet. I'm hoping to start next quarter. Trying to save up enough money to take a few classes."

"Ah," Scott says. "Well, let me know when you register and I'll tell you which professors suck balls." And then close to his ear: "If you give me free coffee sometimes."

Isaac takes a steadying breath and says, "Deal."

*

Scott becomes a regular, and if Isaac isn't too busy, they usually chat for a few minutes.

For a couple of months, it's just that.

Then it changes.

*

Isaac saves up enough money for one class—English Composition—and it's so easy he sits in on other classes just so his brain doesn't decompose. He tries not to be too hard on himself. He has no one but him, and he's making it through the best he can.

Even with his class, he's now working more hours at Third Eye. Erica makes him a Shift Manager and on a near daily basis reminds him how much she regrets it. Then she'll always do something sweet and make Isaac recall why he hasn't quit yet. She may be a raging bitch at times, but she's not an irredeemable raging bitch.

Isaac is closing up shop late one night when Scott knocks on the door. They're already closed, but Isaac opens it anyway.

"Hey, dude," Scott says. "I scored some Corona. Wanna come drink?"

"More than I can put into words," Isaac says and opens the door so that Scott can come in while he finishes up.

When Isaac's done, they walk over to Scott's apartment, which is only a few blocks over. It's in a shitty, run down hovel of a building. They walk up four stories because the elevator is out of order, and at the top, Scott pulls an inhaler out of his pocket.

"Asthma," he says, when he catches Isaac looking.

If the building looks like shit from the outside, the inside of Scott's apartment looks like a landmine was activated in a garbage dump. There are pizza boxes, cups, clothes, condoms—unused, thank God—and beer bottles strewn everywhere. Papers and books are piled in heaps.

"Uh, sorry," Scott says. "I guess I should've cleaned up first."

"No worries," Isaac says as Scott clears room on the couch. Isaac is still carefully not thinking about the condoms as he stands there, shuffling his feet. Scott grins at him, like Isaac is the singularly most amusing thing he’s seen in a long time. “C'mon, sit down. There's nothing really gross on the couch.”

Isaac settles on the edge of the couch, and in the absence of something better to do, watches Scott open his fridge and pull out a six pack of Corona. Isaac can’t help it if he doesn’t know the proper decorum. He’s always been a bit—okay, a lot—of a loner, and he’s not exactly extroverted. He suspects he’d be doing marginally better at this if Scott wasn’t, well, _Scott_.

Scott grabs two bottles by the neck and opens them with a bottle opener with the air of someone well-practiced. Isaac has only had beer a few times. Usually while playing guitar with one of his coworkers after hours.

The whole couch shakes as Scott plops down on it, nearly landing on top of Isaac. He seems unaware of personal space. He stays there, shoulder resting comfortably against Isaac’s, legs splayed open wide—and, no, Isaac needs to divert his eyes right now. A cold beer is pushed into Isaac’s hand, and he’s more than appreciative of the liquid courage right now—even if the liquid courage tastes like cat piss.

Scott is snickering, and Isaac looks sidelong at him. “Tastes kinda shitty, right?” Scott asks, taking another long gulp, and there’s his throat, and shit. Isaac turns away, taking a gulp of his own.

“Sorry, I don’t have a TV,” Scott says. “My old roommate, Jackson, got pissed one time and threw it across the room.”

“Sounds like a douche.”

“He is. If you look 'douche nozzle' up in the dictionary, there's Jackson's picture." He takes a sip of beer as Isaac laughs. "It was actually a good thing. He had this huge pet lizard that freaked everyone out.”

After a few minutes of stilted conversation and gulps of Corona, Isaac feels better. He’s either a lightweight or there’s something about Scott that relaxes him. He suspects both.

They’re talking about Scott’s classes and how he wants to be a veterinarian when a very loud rendition of Gangnam Style explodes from Scott’s phone. Scott pulls an iPhone out of his jeans pocket and curses. The person calling is a very pretty brunette with brown eyes and a million dollar smile. The phone proclaims her name to be Allison.

There’s a twist in Isaac stomach that he can’t blame entirely on the beer.

Scott throws his phone down onto the coffee table.

“You don’t wanna answer that?” Isaac asks.

“Nah, dude.” Scott settles even further back into the couch. “Ex-girlfriend, you know how it is.”

“Uh, not really,” Isaac says—before he realizes what he’s said. Shit, shit, shit. He really hopes Scott missed that, but of course he didn’t. He props himself up on his elbow a little, looking up at Isaac.

“What?”

Isaac sighs and looks away from Scott’s stare. “I’ve—uh, never had a girlfriend.”

Scott studies him until something blooms bright on his face. “Boyfriend?”

Isaac’s cheeks burn bright red. “No,” he mumbles.

Scott sits straight up. “But, dude, you’re—” he gestures at Isaac with both hands “—hot.”

If Isaac was blushing before, right now he can scarcely _breathe_. “Uh—”

Scott laughs in delight. “Don’t take that the wrong way, man.”

“I didn’t,” Isaac says.

If only.

*

The worst thing about being friends with Scott is that he’s a chronic texter. He texts Isaac a zillion times a day, and when Isaac doesn’t respond immediately, he just sends more texts with question marks or sad face emoticons. Isaac repeatedly tries to make him understand that his cell phone is not an extension of his body, but Scott doesn’t seem to understand that.

Scott also doesn’t always make the best decisions. He’s on the verge of failing all his classes—except anything involving animals—and Isaac spends many nights helping him by editing papers and explaining what he remembers from AP Calc.

*

The day of Scott’s Calc final, Isaac is working late, but they're going out to a club afterwards. It'd taken a lot of bribery to get Isaac to go.

Scott stops by when he’s about to close, looking refreshed and ready to cause a riot. It’s the last day of his finals, but Scott is sticking around for the holidays instead of going back home to Beacon Hills, apparently a cookie-cutter shithole of a town with a high propensity for animal attacks.

Isaac is sort of glad Scott is staying around. He’ll be safer. Not that Isaac is _that_ concerned.

“Ready to rumble?” Scott asks. 

Isaac smiles. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

They’re both dressed up a little—which basically means nicer jeans and shirts with no holes or visible stains. Scott and Isaac chat about Scott’s exam—he thinks he did well enough—and Isaac tells him about the man that got so irate that his coffee was not extra, _extra_ hot that he threw it at the ground, burning several other customers and prompting the police to come haul his ass away.

The sidewalk is bustling with college students, bars are crammed with bodies and music is blaring out onto the street. The wind whips through Isaac’s hair, and he doesn’t bother to fix it. He can’t keep the smile off his face, like’s a costume smile he’s glued on. 

Of course it’s too good to last.

When they descend down some steps into an alley, there’s a gorgeous girl with reddish hair (strawberry blonde, maybe?), a short black leather skirt, a leather jacket and a blue glittery tank top. Objectively, Isaac knows she's gorgeous: her breasts are amazing, her hips curved, her legs long.

Scott grabs him by the elbow. “Lydia Martin, this is Isaac Lahey.”

Lydia looks Isaac over from the top of his blond curly head down to his beaten-up Converses and wrinkles her nose. “Charmed.”

*

Despite first impressions, Lydia is kind of awesome. Scary awesome. Scary and awesome.

Within a few minutes, she uses some sort of special wipes that removes the X’s from their hands.

Lydia figures that she might as well use her charms to get them shots, clean hands or not. While she goes to line up with the gaggle of people near the bar, Isaac turns a glare at Scott. Scott looks infuriatingly innocent.

“Dude, it’s not cool to just set me up.”

“Oh, c’mon. She’s totally your type,” Scott yells over the music, right in Isaac’s ear.

“No—she’s really not.” 

Scott looks wounded. “But—I thought I was helping you out.”

Isaac sighs and touches his finger to Scott’s wrist. “I know. I just, um.” Isaac widens his eyes and wills Scott to understand. Scott holds his gaze and says, “Shit.”

“Yeah."

“So, you’re saying,” Scott says, slowly, “you’d be more interested in my friend Stiles than Lydia.”

“Probably,” Isaac ventures, hoping he’s not blushing too much.

“It’s cool, man,” Scott says, slapping a hand to his back. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Lydia comes back with a hot dude carrying a whole platter full of shots. She’s grinning hugely, and Isaac really, really wishes he was straight or at least bisexual.

“Happy birthday, Lydia!” the dude says, and Lydia holds up a shot. “To 21, bitches!”

Scott and Isaac exchange grins and take a shot, miming a toast and knock back their drinks.

After that Scott is swept away to dance, and Isaac stands on the periphery, bobbing his head. Lydia rolls her eyes and grabs his wrist, pulling him onto the floor. The music is a steady beat in his ears. Lydia pulls him close and moves him the way she wants him. “No—here. Yes, move your hips. It’s not quantum physics.” She smirks. “Though I can do that, too.”

Once they get a rhythm going, it’s easy to dance. She’s grinding her very round ass into his crotch, and he’s looking around the dance floor, searching for Scott. When he finally finds him, it's with his arms around some girl, dancing chaotically and yelling the lyrics to Only Girl (In the World) along with the girl, grinning like he's having the best night of his life. Isaac feels his heart somersault in his chest. And Christ, it’s cheesy, but that’s what it feels like. He wonders what it is about Scott McCall that makes him a maudlin sap. When he turns back to Lydia, she’s staring at him like she’s about to have his balls for breakfast.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she hisses near his ear. Lydia’s eyes are too sharp. Isaac opens his mouth to lie and Lydia glares. “ _Don’t._ ”

“Yes, I’m gay,” he says, next to her ear, but it’s so low and the music is so loud, he wonders how she heard him.

She rolls her eyes, rotates her hips. “No shit, Sherlock. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Isaac ‘s mouth drops. “You knew?”

“Well, I knew as soon as I saw you. But I didn’t know you were gay _for Scott_.”

Isaac's mouth flaps like a fish.

“Oh, my God,” Lydia says, and pulls Isaac off the dance floor. He almost trips as he follows her. She grabs them new shots from the bar, gives him one and orders him to drink.

He does. Gratefully. He’s now three shots in and the tequila burns his throat and it’s good. Almost good enough for him to ignore the fact that Scott is now making out with the girl. The curve of his throat looks somehow delicate and strong, and Isaac feels angry, helpless—

Lydia observes him as she leans against the bar. “I’m going to go out on a limb and trust you.” She pokes a finger straight into his forehead and jabs it with her fingernail, and it hurts like fuck. “I haven’t done that since…Jackson.”

“Lizard dude?”

“To be succinct: yes.” Lydia grabs another shot and drinks it like it’s water, Jesus Christ. “Now, I’m going to tell you this, and you’re going to forget you heard it for me, capiche?”

Isaac head swims in confusion and—confusion. “Uh, okay?”

“Scott isn’t as straight as he appears. Jackson told me he’s had more than a few guys over.”

“But I come over all the time.”

“To _fuck_ ,” Lydia says, speaking slowly and raising her eyebrows. 

“Oh,” Isaac says. He wonders, first, if it’s a lie because, well, Lydia could be fucking with his head. But he looks at her and realizes she has no real reason to lie. She’s looking at him earnestly. 

The new knowledge makes the world narrow a little, which is ironic, given that it should be expanding with new possibility. Isaac feels faintly claustrophobic, and it doesn’t help when Lydia yanks him back out to dance, leading them straight into the middle of the throng, so they’re under the flickering green lights of the spotlight.

*

When they finally leave at 2:00am, Isaac is so drunk that Scott has to help hold him up. And it’s so pathetic, but Isaac can’t help leaning into the warm, strong length of his body.

Lydia wishes them a good night, with a covertly whispered, “Go get ‘em, tiger,” in Isaac’s ear before heading off, not without turning around and keenly watching Scott and Isaac huddled together.

Scott laughs. “I’m sorry again, man.”

“Nah, it’s cool. I like Lydia.” Isaac is pretty sure he’s slurring.

“Dude, you're wasted.” Scott puts his head against Isaac’s shoulder, his breath warm against Isaac's neck, and Isaac shudders, feeling needy and on edge. “I’m not letting you go home. Come back to my place.”

Isaac really shouldn’t but he finds himself agreeing.

*

They hobble home, leaning against each other, and nearly fall over several times, which sets them both off into hysterics.

Isaac falls down onto Scott’s couch and leans his neck back against it, closing his eyes, willing the world to stop spinning for a goddamn second. He can still hear the bass in his ears. Scott flops down next to him, lying down with a Corona in hand. He somehow manages to take a drink while flat on his back, and his head is perilously close to Isaac’s lap. His hair is brushing Isaac’s leg. 

It's so tempting to—but no. Isaac knows now is not the time.

But—given what Lydia had said, now might be the time. While they’re both uninhibited. Isaac would never have the courage to do this sober.

Moonlight streams in through the window, and some kids yell down on the street below. Isaac breathes in and out, and concentrates on the feeling of the Corona bottle being placed in his hand. He takes a sip, drinking from where Scott’s mouth has been.

Everything is hazy around him and easy when he says, “Lydia’s pretty cool, but I’m not really attracted to girls.”

Scott looks up at him and gestures for the beer back and smiles. “That’s cool, man. You know that doesn’t bother me, right?”

“I know,” Isaac says, smiles back easily, despite the fact he’s having a little trouble in the breathing department. Whether or not Scott was homophobic was never the problem. For some reason he finds himself saying, “My dad tried to beat it out of me.”

Scott meets his gaze, suddenly fierce. There’s a glint in his eye and he looks a little—dangerous. A shiver shoots down Isaac’s spine. “No one should ever hurt you, especially not for that, and your dad? I—no offense—but I kind of want to kill him.”

Isaac cracks a half-smile. “Someone got there first.”

The look on Scott’s face is a whirlwind of emotion—shock, understanding and sympathy racing each other in quick succession. “Shit, dude, I’m sorry. I—what happened?”

Isaac swallows down a lump in his throat. “Carjacking that ended badly.”

Scott moves up so that his head is now on Isaac’s thigh, and it feels so natural for Isaac’s hand to wander, to rest on Scott’s shoulder.

“Your mom?” Scott asks, eyes soft and glassy from alcohol. His cheeks are pink, and from this new angle he looks so vulnerable.

“Dead.” His fingers creep further towards Scott’s neck, playing right along the collar of his t-shirt. The cotton is thin and soft beneath his fingertips. Isaac’s thumb rubs back and forth, the motion hypnotizing—his pale thumb against the flat, hard plane of Scott’s skin.

“Got any brothers or sisters?” Scott asks. “If you don’t mind…”

Isaac crooks a smile. “It’s fine—and, no, I’m an only child.”

“Me, too,” Scott says, though Isaac knows that. Scott is very open about his friends and his family. Isaac guards that portion of his life with vigilance, mostly because there’s nothing to guard—not till now.

Isaac’s hand strays to the side of Scott’s neck, where his neck and shoulder meet, and he brushes his fingers along the curve.

Scott shivers and groans low in his throat, arching his neck back.

Fuck. A bolt of panicked-lust shoots down to Isaac’s dick. He keeps his hand still, knowing it’s clammy, that he’s pushed his luck too far. Scott is going to move away. He’s going to turn his head and see the huge bulge pushing against the front of Isaac’s jeans.

What he does not expect is for Scott to look up at him with dark, hooded eyes and say, “Fuck, keep doing that.” He bites his lip, white teeth against his pink bottom lip. “If you want.”

And that’s like tempting the devil, because Isaac couldn’t say no to Scott like this.

His fingertips travel, just a whisper, under the collar of Scott’s t-shirt, brushing against the jut of his collarbone, and Scott must be sensitive there because he murmurs, “Oh yeah, fuck,” and cants his hips up. Isaac keeps touching that spot, back and forth, watching Scott’s eyes close to slits. There's an impressive tent pushing up in Scott's jeans, and Isaac’s mouth waters, wanting something—he doesn’t even know what. He looks at Scott, eyes closed, dark eyelashes against his cheeks, a blush spreading along his cheekbones and thinks, _I did that_.

Scott’s hand reaches up and curves around Isaac’s neck, warm and strong. When Scott pushes him down, Isaac follows. Isaac feels Scott’s breath against his mouth. “Is this your first kiss?” Scott asks.

“No,” Isaac says. "Not really."

_But it’ll be the first one that counts_.

Scott grins and says, “Damn,” and before Isaac can think to wonder what that means, he stops thinking at all at the feeling of Scott’s soft mouth under his. It’s tentative at first, oddly sweet, and butterflies blossom in Isaac's stomach. He pulls back, shaking a little. 

“Come on,” Scott whispers, opening his mouth under Isaac’s, urging him to lead. Isaac groans, opens his own mouth over Scott’s and licks the corner of Scott’s mouth, the inside of his lip, where it’s soft and wet. Then he flicks his tongue in and tastes tequila and sharp-sweetness. Isaac is bent at an uncomfortable angle, but he doesn't care. His hand finds the side of Scott’s face, cups his jaw, and he goes deeper, pushing his tongue against Scott’s—dirty and messy. He has no finesse, but he doesn’t give a shit.

His fingers rest at the base of Scott’s neck, just holding him there, and Scott backs away from Isaac’s mouth to say, “You're so hot.”

Isaac gasps as Scott bites at his lips, mind reeling. “I thought you were straight.”

“I tried to be for a long time,” Scott says, their faces close. Scott licks his lips. “I’m gonna get you off. Would you like that?”

Isaac’s mouth drops open on a moan, his legs falling open, startling Scott’s head off his lap. “Yeah.” 

Scott shoots him a grin that’s half teasing and full bona fide evil. Next thing he knows, Scott is straddling him, pressing up against his chest and—fuck—thrusting their hips together. Scott finds his mouth this time, and tangles his fingers in his hair. “Been thinking about this forever,” he says against Isaac’s jaw before he bites down hard, and Isaac throws back his head and moans.

“You have?” Isaac manages as Scott licks his way up Isaac’s neck and— _oh_ —rolls his hips.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Scott says. “Like every second. Thinking about you sucking my dick.” Scott rolls his hips again, long and slow, the friction maddening. And not enough. Isaac reaches around, grabs Scott’s ass, and Scott groans.

Isaac rocks against Scott, gripping his hips and angling his head so that he can capture Scott’s mouth again, plunge his tongue into it. 

It’s Scott that fumbles their pants open. Scott can’t quite get Isaac’s open, though, so Isaac reaches down to help—hands shaking as he undoes his zip and gets his cock out.

Scott watches him and groans out, “God, you’re _huge_.”

Isaac smiles, and Scott grabs their dicks together, spreading the precome with the tip of his thumb, getting their dicks all wet, so they slide together slick and tight and just right. The slight-dry friction is _so good_ , and Isaac grabs Scott’s hair and starts to thrust into Scott's fist, against Scott's cock.

“Sometime I want to fuck you,” Scott says, and Isaac moans. 

“You can’t say things like that, or I’m gonna—"

“Yeah, come on,” Scott says, jerking them faster, fingernail catching in the slit of Isaac’s cock, and Isaac’s hips thrust, his balls tightening. “I wanna see you come. C’mon. _All over me_.”

Isaac’s mouth drops open and he latches onto Scott’s bottom lip with his teeth, nearly drawing blood as he groans, coming in long pulses. He watches his dick being fisted along with Scott’s, watches them being rubbed together, Scott working them faster and faster, using Isaac's come to make the slide wetter. When Scott comes, nearly on the heels of Isaac, his mouth twists in something like pain. Isaac’s still shaking, aftershocks overtaking his limbs, balls feeling like they let off a nuclear explosion. Isaac collapses back into the couch, taking Scott with him. 

When Scott pushes his fingers into Isaac’s mouth, Isaac just sucks them in, groaning at the salty-musk taste. Shortly after, he’s just sitting there, dazed, with his hands still full of Scott’s hair and the next, he’s drifting off, sated and warm, with Scott a comforting weight against him.

*

The next morning, Isaac wakes up on Scott’s sofa with his dick half-hard and covered in the crusty remnants of last night's... It takes him a moment to _remember_. It also takes him a moment to grasp that, yes, he is alive. There’s a pounding headache behind his eyes, and when he looks at his clock, he jumps to his feet, cursing.

It’s a Thursday, and even though Scott is done with finals, Isaac still has to work. He was supposed to be at work ten minutes ago. He quickly goes to the bathroom, washes up and scurries out, seeing no sign of Scott.

He sends a text on the way to work: _Sorry I missed you—work. See you later._

*

Three days pass and Isaac doesn’t hear anything from Scott. There’s no texts, no emails, no Facebook messages, nothing. Scott doesn’t come by the coffee shop.

*

Day one, after Isaac gets off work: _I've not heard from you, dude. We can forget what happened if you want._

*

Day two: _Please let me know you're okay._

*

At the end of Day Two, Isaac would have been seriously concerned about whether or not Scott was okay. He texts Isaac constantly, and so not to hear from him at all is alarming.

But Scott has posted updates on Facebook. Apparently Stiles is in town. Isaac had been wanting to meet Scott's oldest friend, but now he isn't sure he'll ever meet him.

*

Day Three: _You're seriously being an asshole._

Each hour that goes by, Isaac feels more and more like shit. He assumed with the alcohol that he'd forget the finer details of that night, but he hasn't been so lucky. He remembers in vivid technicolor. He could have sworn that Scott was into it, too, but at this point, Isaac can only assume. He has no experience to draw upon. 

He can barely sleep or concentrate. He's fucking up things at work left and right. Boyd tells him in a stern, brooks-no-argument tone to go take a break. Isaac goes round to the back of the building and lights a cigarette, inhales deeply. He can't go on like this.

He pulls out his phone and calls Lydia.

"Isaac, to what do I owe this pleasure?" she asks, and Isaac is never quite sure if she's being sarcastic or serious.

"Scott and I had sex," he blurts out. "Sort of."

Lydia squeals, and Isaac has to hold the phone away from his ear lest his eardrums burst. "What do you mean 'sort of'?"

Isaac recounts what happened and that he's not heard from Scott.

"He's panicking," Lydia says.

"Great."

"No, dumbass. Not a gay freak out kind of panic. An I-don't-wanna-lose-my-friend-but-he's-really-hot panic."

"Oh," Isaac says, taking another long drag off the cigarette.

"Yeah. Let me tell you something about Scott. He has no idea how to act around girls—or guys, I'd suspect. And the Allison thing really fucked him up."

"Oh," Isaac repeats again. 

"Go to his apartment. Hunt him down. If you don't find him, _I'll_ drive up there and kick his ass. And I'll bring Derek."

"Who's Derek?"

"The surliest badass ever." Lydia clears her throat. "You can threaten Scott with that if—I mean _when_ —he acts like a prick."

"Okay, I'll go after work."

"You better." Lydia hangs up after that, not one for goodbyes.

*

Isaac knocks on the door four long hours later.

Scott opens the door, and deflates when he sees Isaac. "Shit."

"Yeah, _shit_ ," Isaac says. He pushes past Scott into the apartment, luckily not seeing any sign of Stiles, but there is an unusual double layer of debris littering the floor and every viable surface.

The door closes behind them and Isaac stands with his arms over his chest. "I want to know why you've been ignoring me," he says, surprised at his own temerity. There's a faint buzz in his ears. Anger. This is good. It spurs him forward. "Now."

Scott's eyes are on him, now, intense—and a little shocked. "I'm sorry," Scott lowers his head, scratches the back of his neck. "I've completely fucked this up."

"Yeah, you have," Isaac says. He takes a step closer. "Are you having a gay freak out?"

Scott laughs, a nervous burst of energy. "No, dude. I've slept with guys before but you're—" 

"Yeah?" Isaac tilts his head. "What am I?"

"You're my friend." Scott puts his head in his hands. "That wasn't supposed to happen." 

Isaac grits his teeth, and it takes all of his will power to say his next words: "If you want to forget that it happened, we can do that, but I need you to tell me now."

The room is still for what seems like an eternity.

"I don't," Scott says. There's a pause in his voice. Hesitation. Isaac's heart sinks, waiting for it. "But you left that morning—"

"What?" Isaac's mouth drops. "I had to go to work."

"I thought you were just, you know, saying that."

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Isaac grabs Scott by the front of his collar, leans down and mashes their mouths together in a gesture too violent to be a kiss. It's a declaration.

Nevertheless, Scott is breathing hard when he pulls back.

"Think about it," Isaac says. He slams the door when he leaves.

*

The next afternoon at Third Eye, Isaac is managing the afternoon crowd singlehandedly because Boyd hasn't shown yet. He's busy with his latte art when a familiar voice calls his name. "Isaac!"

Isaac looks up, and there's Scott, cutting across the café. His eyes are on Isaac's and he has that dangerous, determined look on his face that get tingles rushing up Isaac's neck, adrenaline spiking.

He moves to the register to meet Scott, but Scott doesn't stop at the register: _he leaps over it_ , grabs Isaac by his apron and kisses him, open-mouthed and filthy, to raucous applause.

"Come over tonight," Scott says against his ear, before jumping back over the bar and walking out. 

Isaac stares dumbstruck at the door, while a customer snaps his fingers in front of Isaac's face to get his attention and fails spectacularly. 

All Isaac can do is touch his fingers to his mouth.

*

That night Isaac is so full of nerves he can't stop rubbing his hands together in his fingerless gloves. He's smoked far too many cigarettes on his breaks to try to stop thinking about the sharp taste of Scott on his tongue, and that he's going to taste it again.

At eight o'clock he knocks on Scott's door with anticipation tripping his heart into an unsteady rhythm. Scott opens the door with a half-smile Isaac would dare call shy.

"Hey," Isaac says, stepping inside.

"Hey."

They stand there awkwardly for a few minutes. 

"C'mon," Scott says, taking his elbow and leading him down the hallway, and—shit—into his bedroom. Which is shockingly bereft of papers or clothes or condoms. The bed is made, and that alone is enough to discombobulate anyone who knows Scott.

"Did you _clean_?"

Scott ducks his head. "Maybe?"

That's enough for Isaac to lean down, grab Scott's chin and press their mouths together. Scott pulls Isaac towards the bed, and they fall onto it, still kissing, just a play of lips.

Isaac's mouth opens on a gasp as Scott reaches under his shirt, and Isaac lifts up so he can pull it off. His skin feels positively feverish wherever Scott touches. His fingers stray to Isaac's nipples and he dips his head, takes one in his mouth, holding Isaac's gaze.

"Oh – oh - _fuck_." Isaac's head is thrown back, cock hard in his jeans. "Not a girl," he protests.

"Doesn't seem to make a difference," Scott says, before he takes the other hardened nipple into his wet mouth, and then Scott reaches to undo Isaac's belt, grappling at his zip. Isaac jumps off the bed long enough to unzip his jeans and lets them drop. With Scott's eyes on him, the heat rises to his cheeks. 

"Go ahead," Scott eggs him on. Isaac pulls down his boxer-briefs with his thumbs. His cock springs forward and slaps against his belly. 

"Fuck, your dick is, like—amazing, man." Scott is staring at it. He moves closer to the end of the bed till he's _right there_ , and he looks up at Isaac. "I wanna blow you."

"Do it, then," he says, trying to sound confident, but all that is shot the hell the moment Scott licks up the length of his cock. Scott wraps his hand around the base with a firm grip, and Isaac moans. He tries to watch as the head of his cock slips along Scott's pink mouth, making it slick with precome, but his eyes flutter closed as his dick is pressed into Scott's soft, tight mouth. It's better than Isaac imagined. 

Scott is moaning around his cock, pulling off to lick the slit, then to mouth at his balls. Isaac groans deep in his throat, opens his eyes and makes the mistake of seeing Scott jacking himself through his jeans.

"Oh, fuck," Isaac says, and then Scott takes him down his throat, and it's only a matter of time. Scott grabs his hip with one hand, the other rubbing his cock through his jeans with the heel of his hand. 

"Wanna watch you come," Isaac chokes out. "While I do."

Scott groans around Isaac's cock, pumping it faster and faster. Isaac fucks through the tight ring of Scott's perfect long fingers, fucks into his mouth, his cock rubbing against Scott's soft tongue and when it flutters around the head—

"I'm gonna—oh fuck, I'm gonna come— _oh_ —”

Isaac comes down Scott's throat and the way Scott's moaning around his cock tells him he's coming. 

Isaac can't stand so he falls back onto the bed, swept away in bliss and soft kisses to his inner thigh.

*

Three months later, when Scott comes in for his normal mocha, Erica tells Isaac he may not have his break now just so he can go make out with his boyfriend. Boyd, however, high fives Scott and gives him a mocha on the house.

If Scott licks his whip cream from his mocha in an obscene fashion, well, no one minds.

Especially not Isaac.


End file.
